Of Hunters and Wizards
by mute90
Summary: HP xover! Years ago, the Winchesters hunted a werewolf...by the name of Remus Lupin.


Disclaimer: The book and show are not mine.

Summary: HP xover! Years ago, the Winchesters hunted a werewolf...by the name of Remus Lupin.

* * *

Bare feet moved through the woods with surprising agility. They hopped over tree roots and ignored the sharp pricks. Their movements were steady. The man to whom they belonged was not.

Remus Lupin's head was spinning, his breath was labored, and it was only his animalistic instinct that kept him moving.

He was a werewolf. The correct definition for his species was a human cursed to shape shift into a wolf on every full moon. A friend's definition was a person with a 'furry little problem'. The prejudiced definition was a monster that ran rampant on full moons attacking innocents. He didn't need to guess what the hunters tracking him thought. Their guns said enough. The silver made his skin tingle and, despite an effort to concentrate only on moving, an image of that silver tearing through his skin and bone flashed before his eyes. A panicked mind could come up with so many images.

A werewolf that Remus had met as a child told stories of hunters that didn't shoot to kill. They shot to incapacitate. As you were suffering from the poisonous silver, they would chain you up. The bullet would be removed. They would keep you alive for weeks on end, burning and cutting you with silver blades until even the proud wolf inside of you begged for death. It wouldn't come easily though. A shot of diluted silver nitrate right into your blood stream kept you sweating, crying, and bucking for hours.

"_As you scream, they celebrate," the man said, ignoring the horrified look on the child's face. "They toast each other for a job well done. They reminisce over every man, woman, and child that has ever been killed by our kind and they visualize that blood on your hands."_

"_W-why?"_

"_If you're a vicious monster, then it's alright to take your life. It's not like you're human." The last sentence was bitter._

_Remus' eyes widened dramatically and he retreated to a corner of his ministry holding cell. On his father's orders, his mother dropped him off there three days out of the month. His dad didn't want his disease to have any chance of traveling to other members of the family. That was fine at first. He didn't want to be a reason for a disease. He remembers his mother's eyes tearing up when he told her this. It had been on his first trip to the cells and she had apologized for having to do this. He hadn't understood her until he was escorted down._

_They were too small for a werewolf, allowing hardly any room. There was no space between the cells. They were all huddled in a section, hearing each others screams of misery as they transformed. They would later listen to them cry out for the people who had abandoned them to this place as they returned to human form after scratching and gnawing at themselves all night._

His head and feet were finally in agreement. 'Enough.' His feet were no longer steady. He stumbled.

Remus had cried for his mother after every night in the cells. He wondered if he would cry for her as the hunters…

Maybe his head wasn't as uncoordinated as he thought. He dropped (or maybe tripped) when he heard the gun click. BAM! A section of the tree to his left was blasted off. The forest had been silent except for his footsteps and breathing for a while now, the hunters so quiet behind him that their smell and that tingle was all that alerted him to their presence. The sudden noise and very, very close danger sent a burst of adrenaline through him.

He was in his human form now but that didn't mean he was average. He tackled the man with the gun too quickly for him to get off another shot. The man was grizzled, strong, and efficient. Remus couldn't win him in a fight. He wasn't trying to.

The minute the man's back touched the ground, Remus was moving off of him and shooting back into the cover of trees.

There was another one coming up fast. He swung out wildly, sending the hunter flying into a tree. He dropped to the ground. Remus paused. It was a kid. He was probably in his late teens. He was unconscious.

'He's a hunter Remus! Move it!' a voice shouted into his head. It was James' voice, always the best on-the-spot thinker of their group. Remus followed the order.

He just needed to get past their wards then he was out. He just needed to get past and he was close. He could see the road up ahead. BAM! Another piece of a tree met an unfortunate death by silver bullet. It wasn't as targeted as the last one and Remus had to wonder. He didn't hurt the older hunter enough to mess up his aim. 'Now is not thinking time!' James' voice reminded him. This was moving time.

The hunter shouted out behind him, "Sammy!" It was an order laced in worry and light panic.

Remus moved onto the road and past the wards… to be met by a black car with someone in the passenger seat. A boy in his early teens with a slightly pudgy face and longish hair had a gun pointed out of the window and squarely at his chest. Their eyes locked. The boy's eyes were cold and his face blank. The kid had no qualms shooting him. This time Remus was sure he meant to drop as the shot rang out. He wasn't as lucky though. It pierced his shoulder, the bullet lodged inside, and Remus let out a scream. He hit the ground. His hand scratched at his chest, where the portkey always hung on a string.

The naked Remus Lupin arrived in the Hogwarts infirmary still screaming.

* * *

John Winchester arrived at the road just to watch the injured werewolf disappear. John cursed into the night. They'd known it was some sort of teleporter, hence the wards. 'Damn't, we should have gotten it before it reached the road.'

He turned to his youngest son. "We'll be doing more drills."

Sam looked back at him without replying. His face was still blank. The hand holding the gun was now relaxed on the window and was shaking slightly.

John assessed the situation, remembering the location of the bullet wound on the werewolf and trying to forget the horror as he realized it was heading straight at his unprepared boy. He gave an approving nod. "That was a good shot Sammy. Let's go get your brother. He's gonna' have one hell of a headache in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

Dean groaned, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes. The light hurt, the sound hurt, his head hurt, his ass hurt…this was a crappy day. It was made even crappier by the annoying little brother who tried to smother his laughter in the background. "Shut the hell up Sammy!"

Sam's laughter burst out from behind his hands and Dean threw a pillow at him.

"Boys!" John had gone out for equipment that morning and was now unloading it all onto the table. Dean held back another groan. They would need to clean those weapons later. John had stopped unloading. "I got something that's gonna' be dead useful for you Sammy."

Sam looked curious. Dean stiffened.

"_I got something that's gonna' be dead useful for you, Ace." He held out the Winchester rifle. A sixteen-year-old Dean looked up, his eyes hopeful. He'd been asking for months._

"It's hunting time."

Everything was moving too fast. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't need to deal with this for a few more years. Dean distantly registers that Sammy didn't get a rifle. The Winchester was Dean's. It was the one weapon that wasn't a 'just grab' deal. It was _his_; blunt and rough around the edges. Sammy got a dagger. It's a Fairbairn-Sykes Hunting Knife, sharp and easy-maneuverable. Sam takes it in his hands. He's in awe. Sammy always loved knives. He preferred the art and subtlety to them that was lacking with Dean and his guns.

Dean wanted to yell, to scream that Sammy was too young. It was almost a full three years before Dean had went on his first hunt!

But his throats choked up and he doesn't say a thing.

He just watches Sam study the knife sharply, taking in every edge and bend. He tested the weight in both hands. He pulls it before his face and Dean wonders if his dad is close enough to stop him from chopping off his nose. Sammy knows better though. When dad says he'll be training extra to get the hang of it, he doesn't argue.

There was look in his eyes. Dean felt a chill 'cause, damn't, his baby brother shouldn't be looking like that…not yet.

He wanted to yell but Dean doesn't say a thing.

"How do you like it?" John asked.

Sammy twisted it in his hands and said simply, "It feels like it's _mine_."

* * *

What do you think? Review. 


End file.
